Frontiers in Distortion
by mynameisjulian
Summary: A post Star Forge Star Wars: KOTOR fan fiction. It primarily chronicles the struggles of four characters (who belong to LucasArts): male dark side Revan, a cast-off Bastila and her relationship with Jedi Belaya, and Dorak.
1. Part 1

A quick note, this is a post-Star Forge fan fiction primarily concerning a male dark side Revan, Bastila, Belaya, and Master Dorak. Oh and all that this-belongs-to-George-Lucas-and-Bioware stuff.

Rated R for homosexual content and brief sexuality.

* * *

_Frontiers in Distortion

* * *

_ by mynameisjulian 

Part 1

Chapter 1: An Exercise in Wisdom

As the cluster of stars signifying the Core appeared to intertwine and knot into a brilliant orb of light, so did Dak's stomach. Yet the Returned Lord had no real feelings about what he was about to do. Instead, he had a justification.

"It's done then," Bastila murmured from somewhere behind him. He knew she was there, could Feel her presence, but didn't acknowledge her, couldn't acknowledge her, until he had made up his mind.

Anxiously hovering above Malak's body, he knew she was wrong; Malak was dead, but until he, Lord Revan, was completely alive with dark power, it wasn't over. The woman at his side was the only thing keeping him from his destiny.

"Bastila, it's time for you to leave," he said and smiled tightly.

"And go where, My Lord?" she asked in subservience, but her standoffish hand-on-hip stance told him that she wished to remain and bask in Malak's defeat.

Her now adulterated blue eyes followed his hand to a near black patch in the sky. As if by fate, Admiral Dadonna's flagship's implosion illuminated the memory of the planet he would send her to. "To Roon."

"What? The Outer Rim!" An offended hand rose to grab Revan's shoulder.

Stepping aside in time, he replied, "Don't ask, just go."

"I thought… I mean, my place is here by you. 'Together' you promised we'd crush the Republic."

"And you said that you'd be utterly mine. Your ship is waiting in the docking bay." That was the first moment he truly hated the bond, hated the words he'd spoke because of their love. "And as I promised, you will be fulfilling your part in my plan," he continued, finally turning to look at her, for the last time, he hoped. Yet simultaneously the ghost of Dak Gaillies, Republic soldier, tugged at something in him. Dak needed to convey to her that he had no intention of hurting her.

"But it's been months since we've been together," came her whisper. He felt her trying to control him through desire, and wanted to hate her for it. And there was nothing, not even the Force, that could stop her lips moving toward his, "so…before I leave."

Revan Returned reminded himself, _she's beautiful, but she can't mean a thing to me, doesn't mean a thing to me_. "You have my orders."

* * *

Revan force-pulled the cowardly Sith commander crouched behind the Command Center's main computer terminal toward him.

He stammered up and bowed before him, "My Lord."

"When the station is fully secured, find Canderous and bring him to me."

"Yes, My Lord," he said brashly.

Irritated, Revan gave his trachea a long squeeze before letting go of the force grip on his lungs. "You've not heard your full orders… Gather what Dark Jedi you find alive, and tomorrow morning, announce that they will fight for my apprenticeship."

He gave a humiliated bow and exited the now soothingly vacant room.

Revan walked back to the Command Deck and leaned down to touch Malak's horribly charred body. He saw that without the ability to re-join the Force Malak would forever feel the shock of his Force Lightning.

"Friend, you'll be the last one to disobey me."

Chapter 2: The Crossing

With a barely noticeable nod, Revan instructed Vykar, one of the many fledgling Sith Officers now gathering in his quarters to retrieve the plasteel cylinder marked for Canderous Ordo.

Seeing his name etched in Basic, Canderous the Mandalorian thought to himself, _Canderous__ of Ordo. _But he had already moved past incorrect cultural translations while living within hearing and shooting range of countless Tarisian degenerates. _These people have long abandoned Tribal surnames. Their names no longer have meaning, and now neither does mine. _

Revan handed him a communicator, saying, "Your personal link to me for your trip."

Canderous gave his friend a satisfied grin, the skin around his grey eyes collapsing into crow's feet. It was a smile full of the hope that Revan would send him to gather his clan under a new Sith banner.

Revan extended another item, a datapad, to the Mandalorian. "Your mission, the launch codes to your personal Light Pinnace, your flight plan." Revan turned to his young entourage announcing he would return. "Walk with me, Canderous."

Canderous thumbed through the mission itinerary. Although the contents left him nonplused, only his eagerness to follow Revan for an explanation showed it. "My main request is that Bastila, my former apprentice, is not harmed."

"You know Bastila and I have never been civil toward each other, so I can't say I'm disappointed. But why send her away? I was under the impression that she was your right hand."

He saw the question coming before his friend's lips unlocked. Asking it was necessary; answering it was imperious for both of them… Or perhaps all three of them: Canderous, the Dark Lord, and most importantly to subdue his alter-ego Dak Gaillies. Like an imaginary friend, the false memories and persona of Dak retreated into the labyrinth of his mind, never again to find its way out.

"I saw the flaw in keeping a lover as my apprentice. My first mistake was taking a friend as my apprentice. This Revan isn't an inquisitive or angry young man… or a passionless Jedi," he added. "This Revan rules with an iron fist and a velvet glove. The citizens of the conquered Republic will be won over with my charm, but the Dark Jedi close to me will fear my power. I aim for full control of everyone underneath me."

While he wasn't sure if his biting words were filled with new wisdom or flawed logic, Canderous didn't flinch, and kept up with the Dark Lord's sturdy gait. When they reached the Observation Deck, Revan removed the hood from his robes and turned his jaundiced eyes to meet his. In their six month journey, his friend's appearance hadn't altered. Until the Leviathan. After Bastila was taken, Revan's passionate fight to find her had drained him of the will to even shave the once neatly kept patch of hair underneath his lip. His eyes soon discolored from lack of sleep. Canderous assumed it was from the need to save Bastila. Yet all the anger that ballooned inside him during the struggle was gone now. He hadn't noticed until this moment that it was replaced with something more sinister, a subversive psychopathy. He understood the need to be rid of Bastila.

"To Roon then. And perhaps on my way back, I'll stop by my homeworld."

Revan received the latter statement with a questioning glare. He was too exhausted to use the Force to extract his answers.

"I was hoping to round up my clan, so that they can swear allegiance to you. It's never a bad thing to have Mandalorians on your side."

"I know. I fought you people. In two lifetimes. I have no wish to fight you Canderous. Make sure Bastila arrives _safely _on Roon. Bring a few of the best and most loyal officers, troopers, and Jedi to accompany you. Complete this successfully, and you may summon your clan." He paused for a few seconds before making himself absolutely clear, "Again, Bastila isn't to be harmed. I'll know she's gone. We're still bonded."

"You're not getting soft on me, are you?"

"Not on you, no," he vaulted his hood back up to cover his thinning hair. "It's time to get ready, I imagine." 

* * *

****

Bastila heard the metallic clink of a blaster against someone's belt. The little _brups__ changs _and _shinks_of equipment were the only audiblenoises in the conversationless air as the party neared their destination.

Canderous' enormous boots drew Bastila's focus as he marched ahead of her, leading the group. Centering on one object helped her concentrate on little disturbances in the Force. When the boots suddenly came to a halt followed by a grunt, Bastila motioned for the others to stop as well.

"Tell me, do you Feel anything?" he asked.

"Not anywhere near," she replied. "But if I stop and meditate, I can See farther."

"Well why don't you help out and do that then," he said matter-of-factly.

"I'll help. Even though I find you extremely annoying," Bastila stated clearly so that the other party members, including the two Dark Jedi, could hear.

Canderous treated her with one of his disimpassioned grins. It was a gesture meant to provoke her. She knew that, so she chose to ignore it.

She launched her gear off her back and began channeling the Force in search of life forms. She was sure Revan would disapprove of the little rendezvous with trade pirates Canderous had planned in spite of the urgency of their mission. But everything about the operation, the pit stop, and her companions, distressed her; she had, however, lost much of her intuitional Force powers since joining the Sith. She hadn't even Sensed Revan's sudden distance. Although she surmised being more adept at Force Attacks and Defense was worth the trade.

As they advanced, Bastila felt resentment at being charged with what seemed like a Padawan's mission. Being treated like an inferior instead of recognized for her power was the primary reason she left the Order. _And Canderous called you a Jedi Princess. How absurd, _she mused. Lost in her animosity toward both Revan and his Mandalorian lapdog, Bastila was the first to notice that the ground ahead had suddenly given birth to a perfectly linear streak of white light.

"The Umboo Lightstation…" she said. Bastila never would have imagined it was underground, but with all the thieving moles on this planet, she saw the need to keep everything out of sight.

One of the Sith Officers motioned for the company of troopers to disperse into attack formation. "When we take control of the surveillance, we should be able to track any communications about unusual visitors wielding lightsabers," Officer Qarenad informed Canderous. Yet from his battle-ready-stance, it was obvious the Mandalorian predicted more resistance than the officer. "Aleorid, test the ground for an entrance," he called to a short but confident Twi'lek male trooper. His friend, a brutish blonde with a crook nose helped him unpack the geometric scanner from her backpack.

Bastila was, as always, a millisecond's reach from her double-bladed saber. When the red lights on the scanner indicated unnatural terrain, Aleroid began to dig, uncovering an elevator hatch within minutes.

"Who's volunteering for lookout?" The Mandalorian spat the question. His harsh tone and war-weathered attitude usually had an affect on the soldiers.

When none of the troops took the initiative to step forward, Qarenad priggishly volunteered Aleroid again.

"I don't blame you," Canderous muttered, "I'm guessing lookout will be the first easy hit when and if they call for reinforcements. Hey sister, why don't you stay here with him." The female trooper followed orders and stepped aside. Bastila realized the two troopers were lovers. That she realized it after Canderous bothered her. The privates and lesser officers took the elevator down into the control center before her, Canderous, and the Dark Jedi.

The lightstation appeared completely abandoned. While the vacancy seemed to unsettle the crew, it alarmed Bastila for another reason… A steady undercurrent of the Force told her that if anything, she should be running from her company, not from armed trade lords. As the current of feeling towed at its hardest, she heard the door behind her being shut and sealed, the control panel blasted.

She wondered if Canderous really thought that a blast door would stop her… Then she realized he might have planted explosives. With accuracy set off by Anger, she drew her lightsaber and stabbed it into the first sheet of metal. But the bronzium door held proudly. And even as her saber continued to melt it into molten liquid, she began to realize that her escape would not be expeditious. The red blade of her weapon and the flushed anger in her cheeks were the only illumination in the room as she continued to work at opening the door.

Chapter 3: Saving Bastila

The room was rank with fungus and disuse. Oxidation stains created by multiple leaks in the ceiling stretched from the walls down to portions of the computer terminal. Bastila could only hope that the sound frequency monitor was operational. Listening and waiting for the next caravan of smugglers seemed to be her only means of escape. By the time she had cut through the blast door with her lightsaber, Canderous and the others were gone, leaving her stranded.

_Damn you Canderous! _She thought.

Some part of her knew that this was Revan's doing. Revan. Her Dark Lord. Her only love. It felt like there was nothing inside of her that wasn't putrid, toxic, resentful. And as if she were force-fed fish mixed with shattered glass, her stomach began to churn and bleed. But the vomit on the floor and the subsequent bowel-stink were the only material evidence of what was happening to her. She kneeled down, oblivious to the puke on the floor, as if ignoring it would make her less ashamed of the way her body, of all things, had reacted.

_There must be another explanation, _she thought._ If Revan were displeased with me, he would rather kill me. _Although their Force and love bond was not what it once was, she was confident that she was still in control of her destiny, and her destiny was with him. _But if the plot to leave me in the Outer Rim were Canderous' invention, he of all people certainly couldn't risk leaving me alive_, she reasoned. _And he has no real motive, no ambition to become his apprentice. _She didn't want to think about it; not even the feeling-free zone of the dark side could save her from the emotional limbo Revan had thrown her into.

So instead of letting herself feel hurt or vulnerable, she came to Anger. It wasn't the fleeting anger she felt when becoming defensive, but a festering anger… a resentful anger whose catalyst and main ingredient was guilt. She recognized this formula: she felt it when she was a young girl and had tried to contact her father, she'd felt it at the very mention of her mother, and she'd felt it after the guilt of being overly harsh on her had worn-off. Her instinct for dealing with her anger now was the same as in the past – to block out the feelings and concentrate on linear tasks.

Bastila pulled down on the manual-control lever effectually shutting down the systems autonomous programming. Using her Force Sight, she traced for signs of fingerprints used to key in the password for the terminal.

Learning to use the console didn't come naturally, but after thirty minutes of trial and error, she learned how to intercept communications signals. The first few were coming from too far away to be useful, and just when she felt herself nodding off, the location tracker flashed red. She opened the link.

A dumbfounded Bastila paused… the communication was being relayed by Belaya, and even more coincidentally, she was hailing Master Dorak…. She knew she didn't have time to think, and quickly responded to the message, luring her old Jedi acquaintance to the lightstation. Then she would have enough time to ponder her strategy… should she befriend her or kill her? She wondered.

Strangely, Belaya was the one person Bastila never thought of. She was the one person that she and Revan had dealt-with along their journey that hadn't kept her up at night wondering if he had handled in an appropriate way… wondering if even she had handled appropriately.

Bastila could see Belaya's face when she found out her old academy-mate had gone to the other side. She imagined her hazel eyes glaring at her in disapproval. The same tired look her mother would give her as a child when she spilled on the carpet or when she purposefully decorated her clean clothes with glower algae from the nearby sea.

The ruby power signal on the console flashed intermittently, awakening Bastila from her fear of Belaya's reaction, and the woman herself. She was a Jedi. She was weak. But perhaps, she rationalized, Belaya didn't know of her turn. She remembered Revan's, response to her when she confronted him at the temple. He had recognized her, even before she had revealed herself from the shadow of the archway, but he hadn't seen the dark seed's full flowering; the sinful germ she came to believe was placed in her heart not by Revan himself, but by the Will of the Force in exchange for saving the life of the Dark Lord. But succumbing to the Will of the Force was the root of her problems as a Jedi; and now, now she could _bend_ the Force that she once worshiped instead of her own power. There was no reason Belaya couldn't be bent in the same way.

* * *

****

On Roon, the general rule was that for every twelve hours of unendurable heat and humidity, a three hour tropical rain would follow. The native Mudmen linked the recent overwhelming force of the showers to the near destruction of their natural habitat. If that were the case, Belaya supposed, then more swampland on the darker side of the planet was being cleared for safer smuggling roads. Every part of her felt the stickiness in the air, and the permanent overcast seemed more full of perspiration than her foreign guide on the first day she had arrived.

Belaya messaged Dorak, "It's about that time of day. We should get inside." She assumed he was off somewhere archiving some local flora. "Meet me back at the Floater. And hurry. I'm dying to get out of here anyway."

"Bel-Belaya…" Dorak's voice sounded unsure, unusual. "I need you to bring the Floater down to Umboo Station. I think I got tangled up in something poisonous." The Sense that something was amiss, that Dorak was not Dorak, amplified when she heard his inflection on the word something. Dorak, she believed, was the most indecisive grouch of all the Council Members – but the buoyant emphasis on _some_thing was the old Master. Ever since the destruction on Dantooine, the Master's voice had dimmed to a whisper. Drawing inward for meditation during crisis was the Jedi way… And although she believed in it, she was starting to realize that it wasn't _her_ way. It was still possible, she admitted, that a force user was imitating Dorak's voice. It was also possible that his spirits had lifted enough so that he could resume his once peaceful grumpiness.

Belaya willed herself through the Force to investigate. If there was something wrong, at least her foresight gave her even ground with her opponent. She hoped.

The trade guilds were experimenting with operating the lightstation through artificial intelligence now; but Belaya wouldn't be surprised if it had been repopulated by pirates.

A few meters away from the lightstation, she heard someone speak her name. Then again.

"Belaya. It's been a long time," came a familiar voice. It was Bastila, her Talravin accent unmistakable.

She scanned the woman head to toe, simultaneously giving her a nod. "It's good to see you alive, although I have to admit you don't look so well. How did you get here?"

Inwardly Bastila laughed at the force of Belaya's denial. "Well, after the battle for the Star Forge… and our… defeat, I crash landed here. Have you been able to reach anyone on Coruscant?"

"No, the Sith Cloak is making it damn near impossible to contact anyone on the other side of the planet, let alone anywhere remotely near the Core."

"I see. Could you help me get to the city?"

"Sure, we've got shelter too. I just need to find Master Dorak. He's somewhere around this lightstation."

"I intercepted a transmission from him just before you arrived. He's wandered a kilometer or so South of here." Bastila's face remained entirely stoic, even though she knew she might have given away incriminating evidence.

"You pretended to be Dorak on the communicator," she stated.

"I needed your attention."

Belaya was relieved Bastila was alive, but also irritated that she had unnecessarily tricked her. Belaya grabbed her arm and lifted her to the floater anyway.

After an uncomfortable silence, she finally ventured to ask what she had been dreading to ask since she first saw Bastila. "Did Juhani survive?"


	2. Part 2

Part 2

Chapter 1: Splinter Ferns

The madness broke in and tore apart everything. It only took a moment.

And Master Dorak was traveling back to Dantooine through a dream. Resting against the monolithic limestone rocks by the Matale Estate he saw the loose-lipped woman typically stationed just outside the enclave. But on this particular day, she was writing in her datapad, free and calm.

It only took another moment and he was back within the confines of the academy, the same woman now lying on the ground, her head the only part of her body erect and unwilling to go to the grave. She held her hemorrhaging stomach with one hand and a carbine blaster with the other as two Sith droids closed in on her.

But Dorak was in two places. He was there with her, and he was focusing on exploiting the weakness in the Dark Jedi's lightsaber tricks and counter Force blows.

He could only do one thing at a time.

If he saved her, he couldn't kill him. If he killed him, he killed her.

In another moment, he was swimming through tall grass, with the woman on his back and Belaya to his side, moving with terminal velocity toward the settler's ship.

"Roon, we have a shelter there..." she muttered, her head flopping against his neck, her mouth wide-open, netting as much air as possible.

And he was awake. The sad and very real feel of blood on his garments stirred him to life.

The splinter fern had fallen from his hand and dried out in the green afternoon heat. The sun had caused its mossy leaves to spike into one sharp needle. As he reached out to grab the plant by the pin, he felt Belaya's presence.

Belaya. The reminder of what had happened, what he had done.

Chapter 2: The Cost of Living

_Revan had killed her; Revan had murdered Juhani. _In her silence, Bastila had confirmed it.

That afternoon – while belts of rain battered the ground and agitated the loose dirt – Belaya watched Master Dorak sleeping on the recliner as Bastila kept an inadvertent Force Eye on Belaya. The two women crouched shoulder to shoulder on the floor, their backs supported by the shelter walls in an uneasy intimacy.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the younger Jedi said.

"She was a good friend and a fearless Jedi."

"Perhaps foolish."

"But not cowardly," Belaya replied.

Abruptly, Bastila slid her hand on top of hers. She found it strange that she received Bastila's brutally icy hand warmly and willingly. Belaya knew she was using the touch to channel her powers of psychometry, intruding into her inner sanctum of thoughts and feelings. What Bastila wasn't expecting, however, was that Belaya was using the contact for the same purpose.

Bastila found herself touching the bruised walls of the Jedi dormitories and saw the ghost of a Jedi backed into a corner. They were outnumbered, and with little training, no match for a throng of grenadiers and Dark Jedi. Belaya, the only combat experienced Jedi in the room, had thrown her lightsaber at two troopers before giving the order to retreat.

Then she saw a settler, her dark skin washing white, as two brown hands dragged her body outside of a ship.

Bastila withdrew her hand. She had done and seen darker things. But she had never felt utterly powerless executing them.

"You've grown much stronger since then. I could sense it. That's why I didn't kill you when I had the chance," she paused. "Now I need a favor in return for your life."

"I don't do favors for Revan's henchmen... And if it comes to it, I won't hesitate to kill you either."

"How un-Jedilike."

"I suppose... I suppose the Jedi began losing me at the same time they lost you..." Belaya had nearly choked on the foul-tasting words, "But at least I didn't go lusting after power and fawning over the Dark Lord."

Bastila postponed the urge to choke the older woman, instead wedging a hand in between Belaya's arm and her torso. She hadn't expected Belaya to use the same touch to channel psychometry and read her past. Now Bastila settled for using her companion's knowledge as a tool. "Your suffering and guilt has made your walls impregnable. I know how powerful that can be because I feel the same way. By the will of the dark side, I sent thousands of soldiers to their death on the Star Forge. But the guilt makes my need for revenge that much more urgent – revenge against Revan for creating Malak. I spent all last night dreaming about castrating him. Revan has betrayed the both of us as well as the entire Order and the Republic. Think about it."

"Listen to yourself, Bastila. You sound like a textbook spurned lover."

"I assume you know the feeling... Juhani..."

Eager to change the subject, a ferocious Belaya interrupted her, "When the time comes, I will be among the first Jedi who challenge the Dark Lord. Until then, keep your dark machinations to yourself. I don't know about you, but I plan to return to Peace first."

"Perhaps this is not the best time to continue this conversation," she whispered, glancing sideways at Dorak.

Their talk had left Belaya drained and wondering if Bastila was past the point of redemption. Waywardly she supposed it was her duty to find out.

"I want to show you something," she said, getting up and extending a hand to gather Bastila from the floor.

Their shelter had been designed as a ground caravan rest stop, but the main highways had moved deeper into the jungle. The architectural planning of the planet was the antithesis of any civilization Belaya had ever witnessed. However, she admired the ingenuity of the locals. Running perpendicular along the walls and the exposed scaffolding of the shelter were water lights that staked into the ground and attached to the roof. The lights collected water from the daily showers and recycled it into indigo hydrogen lanterns, which also emitted an abnormal vibration that repulsed most native insects and wildlife. Taking Bastila to one, Belaya summoned the available Life Force Energy. With a mixture of strength and finesse, the water light jumped into her hands, dancing around and morphing into every hue of the color spectrum. She pitched the lights toward Bastila, which served to both irritate and amuse the Dark Jedi.

"I've never seen anyone _actually _manipulate light before."

"If you want, I can teach you." Correctly guessing that the way to intrigue Bastila was to offer knowledge of the Force, Belaya believed that perhaps together they could redeem one another.

"This power comes from the Light, Bastila."

Chapter 3: Tactics of Distraction

The rain had left its mark on the morning. Droplets still clung to the tips of the crab grass, as if offering themselves to the sun. Near the shelter, a cloud of wispy smoke hung, the product of heat and liquid. In the backyard, Belaya was meditating. It was a habit really, rising at dawn to gather herself for whatever the day had in store. She extended her hands and leaned forward in the beginning of a summersault, her back forming a perfect arch. She drew her hands in as close to her feet as possible, inching them against the ground. She loosened her mind, giving her body the pliability necessary to complete the position. Her butt rose into the air.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, wiping her thoughts and the distractions of the previous days and months, preparing herself for whatever visions meditation might bring her. Each time Bastila came through the blackness. Images of her as Revan's puppet. Images of her as a Dark Jedi. And most disturbingly, images of her as Revan's lover. The fact that the Jedi had taken a lover didn't disturb her as much as the inkling that their desire for one another had been a factor in their fall. A small part of her had always rejected that teaching. Now she suspected there was truth in it.

"I think that's the worst arch pose I've seen." She opened her eyes to see Bastila in front of her, as if she'd walked right out of her thoughts and into the field.

She sighed. "I've been having trouble focusing lately."

Bastila joined her on the ground, stretching. "I wonder if you duel as poorly as you meditate."

Belaya rolled her eyes. "So now that you've surrendered to the dark side you just say whatever comes to mind?"

"I say what I think, and I think maybe I could teach you a thing or two as well."

Belaya thought on that... Perhaps she was right, perhaps she could redirect Bastila to the light while learning a thing or two about the darkness peaking within her. "I'll take you up on that challenge then."

After stretching they faced one another, ceremoniously extending their weapons before stepping backward and forward and to the side, stabbing and parrying, testing each other. Then, with little warning but her feet lifting the ground, Bastila leapt at her. As her saber came up to deflect the blow, she simultaneously kneed Bastila's hip only slightly to throw her off balance. Belaya had dictated that this would not be a battle of strength but of poise and wit.

And although it soon became apparent that her proficiency with a saber surpassed Bastila's, it still seemed as if her foe had the advantage: her youthful figure and striking blue eyes were distracting Belaya to the point of unnecessarily giving-up her ground. Bastila had worn robes without the collared undergarments, leaving her collarbone naked and her chest unguarded... The sight of the cleft of her breasts sweaty and heaving in the amber sunlight _shouldn't _have affected her, but it did. Whether Bastila was doing it purposefully, she wasn't sure. She did, however, have her suspicions that this was how she had learned to deal with the Dark Lord; her brief glimpse into Bastila's mind had suggested so.

Belaya had always been attracted to Bastila's tenacity in her pursuit of mastery of the Force, something that she herself had lacked. Though Belaya was naturally adept in the use of a saber, the will to progress through mental control had always eluded her. It was difficult for her to admit, but she was often envious of the young Padawan: not only was she skilled in the use of the rare Battle Meditation, but she also gave the appearance of complete control over herself and her actions. But this Bastila who twirled her double-bladed lightsaber at her passionately was a much different creature. And now Belaya found herself surveying the beautiful woman in a strange way... her admiration had been replaced by something more alien, something she believed was called desire.

Bastila's thoughts penetrated the shield of her mind, leaving Belaya emotionally numb, as if an uninvited hand had plowed into her and retrieved her resolve to fight. Belaya feared her opponent might have found the traces of her lust there, and as if informing her that her inkling was correct, Bastila's lips protruded and then pursed, her eyes sparkling with laughter and the power of knowledge.

But ultimately Bastila's overconfidence was her weakness, and Belaya utilized that brief second of arrogance to kick Bastila's saber from her hands before balancing her arms for a final fist in the younger woman's chest. Although she appeared hurt by losing, she didn't seem shocked.

"It seems your desires have made you a much more worthy opponent than I guessed. I must have misjudged you," Bastila said, rising back to her feet with stray tufts of grass clinging to her palms.

"I doubt it. I... I've never felt so weak in my life. Your outfit is distracting, to say the least," she said, placing her saber back on her belt. The small task had allowed her to break contact with her piercingly cold eyes.

"Go with that then..."

Belaya had taken it upon herself to tutor Bastila, to guide her back to sanity, to help her rediscover the light. But now she saw that perhaps she was unsuitable for the task: she and Bastila were too much alike, both too unsure of their place in the universe, too caught up in dark passions.

"I think it's time we went to the city to meet Dorak," Belaya said. "I also suggest changing your outfit. The smugglers will eat it up."

* * *

The afternoon was still and hot, as if the air was waiting.

Bastila's hands moved to grip the dresser, her palms suctioning the porous wood. In reaction, the furniture released a subtle _lurp _sound, as if responding _yes_. Bastila's face muscles remained motionless, her eyes statuesquely blank, but she seemed to be bracing herself for something. Her armor-vest was old but reeked of polish, and her pants stretched to accommodate her sinewy thighs. Belaya imagined her pale, fine skin creased like cream when she smiled. She was beautiful. Unusually beautiful, powerful, regal.

Sitting on the arm of the conform-lounge couch in the one room shelter, Belaya tilted her head only slightly to give the appearance of watching the window while she examined Bastila. Both knew it was only a polite gesture on Belaya's part. But Bastila couldn't understand why an experienced Jedi like Belaya would be so obvious and simultaneously so unashamed of it.

Bastila chuckled to herself, drawing a puzzled look from her companion. "Someone once said to me," she began. "When I was doing the very same thing you're doing now, 'I think we both know the reason you're watching me.'"

Bastila's sudden lightheartedness caught Belaya unawares, and as she laughed along with her, she couldn't suppress a snort. "I'm just curious about you, that's all. Worried about you, really," her tone suddenly becoming serious. "I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable. As long as I don't make you uncomfortable."

"Yes, you do."

"Fair enough, but if there...nevermind," Belaya stopped herself. "Anyway, put these on," she said, offering Bastila synthetic Twi'lek lekku.

"Oh, so your plan to attract less attention from men is for me to dress like a Twi'lek dancer," she said, the intoxicating sound of her laughter still mingling in her voice.

"Actually, you'd be surprised. The largest planetary cartel is run by Twi'lek females. More specifically, a woman named Erilla. She's made it a sort of haven for the girls with... _other_ interests. So the women here who command the most respect are generally of the Twi'lek persuasion."

"Interesting," was all Bastila could manage. In one elegant motion, she reached up to liberate one of her braids from the habitual tie that bound it together. After placing it on the nightstand, she moved to do the same with the other one. Then she reached for the lekku and placed it rather rudely atop her head.

Belaya stood up and walked to where Bastila sat, setting her hands on the other woman's shoulders. She leaned in closer to Bastila's face simultaneously removing the lekku. "Let me."

She was so near that Bastila could practically taste her words. Bastila wondered what it would be like to share food and then kisses with another woman. She'd never been averse to the idea of being with women, but such things had long fallen into the same category as her attraction to men: imprudent fornication. She remembered a night on the _Ebon Hawk _when Juhani had healed a lightsaber cauterization wound. Bastila had insisted many times that she could do it herself, but Juhani being just as stubborn and sensing how exhausted Bastila's force powers were, had put her protests to rest by forcefully pinning her shoulder against the sickbed and applying globs of gelatinous kolto up and down her leg. It was the first time Bastila felt truly cared for by another woman. Her mother certainly hadn't done such things, she lamented.

"What was it like, being with Juhani?" she asked, as Belaya gathered her hair in her hands. Bastila imagined Juhani might be as vicious in bed as she was in battle, then soft and caring afterward.

"I was never... _with _Juhani," Belaya slowly replied, her thoughts muddled by the feel of Bastila's fine coffee-colored hair coming unglued in her fingers.

"I see. It's just that, from the way you talked about her on Dantooine, I thought maybe there was something there - an attraction."

"Maybe there was, I don't really know. I was attracted to her strength, her perseverance in the face of so much adversity. And we had so much in common. On the nights we used to stay up talking, curing ourselves of the insomnia created by our pasts, we bonded.

Although the memories of my family were much more distant, I found myself opening up to her about my father's alcoholism more than I could to my Master..."

"...And Juhani's father was addicted to stimulants," Bastila finished.

"Right," she said, plaiting Bastila's hair in a barely noticeable knot above her head. She took the stray lock of hair that always cut across her forehead and tenderly tucked it behind her ear. "I'm curious, how did you fall to the dark side? I always thought you were smarter than that."

"Malak was the first to show me the liberating power of a shame-free existence. How I shouldn't beat myself up for being human, but use it as a tool to achieve power. The realization of that power is what set me free.

The Masters treated me like a child, like an inferior. And I secretly hated them for it. Even then, I guess I wasn't a good Jedi."

"I know what you mean, Bastila," she said, turning the chair so that they were facing each other. But in Bastila's eyes, Belaya saw that she was not living a shame-free existence. No, she was ashamed of somehow letting Revan down. She was ashamed of having to turn to a Jedi for help. She was ashamed of always needing someone else to feel complete. Belaya wrestled with what she could say to make Bastila understand that neither the dark nor the light became her. "I felt ashamed of my... attraction...to Juhani. I knew my inner feelings weren't that of the archetypal Jedi. But you know what? Even the Masters know that. The mold for Jedi behavior _isn't _set in stone. Every Jedi has a unique way of carrying out the Will of the Force. For many, I think the teachings are meant to guide us until we can set our own code of conduct."

"The old Bastila would disagree. But there is some truth to what you're saying, although I doubt the Masters would admit it."

"Of course not, a bunch of stodgy old men and women sitting in a room deciding the fate of the Republic..." She stopped herself, her voice dropped lower. "If there's much of the Republic left now."

An umbrella of silence opened in the room. Bastila felt overwhelmed by the urge to kiss away the tight lines of stress that had formed on Belaya's forehead. It was too musty in the room, she thought to herself, and the nearness of Belaya was making her react to things in a very physical way. The thought of wanting to console another woman went against everything she believed in as a Sith.

_What's worse, _Bastila thought, _she's a Jedi. She's the enemy. She wants to turn you, she said it herself. _She couldn't come to terms with what was happening. Her ability to rationalize became weaker as she began to perspirate in the private rooms of her body.

As Belaya positioned the lekku back on Bastila's head, Bastila reached for her hand and drew it into her lap, where she clamped down on it with her own. She knew what she was trying to do was radical and somewhat unorthodox. But she had done it with Revan and saw no harm in trying it now with Belaya. The contact had forced Belaya to hunch over Bastila, their faces and feelings seconds apart.

"I don't know how appropriate this is... Given the situation," Belaya murmured.

"Because you're a Jedi, and I'm a Sith... The Dark Lord's Apprentice," Bastila said.

"That's a childish way of putting it, but yes..."

Bastila ignored her words, leaning closer. "Kiss me before I change my mind."

Belaya didn't move, frustrating Bastila in her need. "Then you must agree to be mine... To let me tutor you. To let me hold and caress you back to the Light."

At that moment, Bastila would have agreed to anything – except for that. She reasoned it was time for her to be her own master. She freed the other woman's hand and reached for the facial-reconstructor on the dresser. "I think I can finish this on my own."

Chapter 4: Damage Control

Dorak took the shortcut through the exchange venue to get to Erilla's. Hers was the farthest sector of town from the transport station.

The low-tech planet reminded him of his home: all cheap metals, clean in the streets but dirty in the shops and underground, where the real life was.

He remembered being strangely drawn to the marketplace on his home planet as a child. He had taken a detour there before school one morning, finally disregarding his father's after-dinner ramblings about swindling salesmen, Hutt gangsters, bounty hunters, and boost addicts. And that was the morning the Jedi had found him. Rescued him, really, from a boost addict convinced he had a communication link with Coruscant implanted in his brain. He remembered thinking one of the Jedi's robes smelled like moth balls when he covered his mouth with his hands.

A tall Arkanian man whose skin sagged from his cheekbones and forehead greeted him with a cold pupil-less stare and a raised blaster.

"Dorak here to see Erilla."

* * *

Erilla stood in her window balcony watching over her people, some at computer terminals, some moving goods on dollies, her guards stationed at each exit in the rotunda.

Zaerdra, the newest applicant for service and protection, sat motionless in the chair opposite her desk. She tilted her head up, "I worked under Gadon, for a gang called the Hidden Beks, since I was fifteen..."

"Well," Erilla snapped, indignant. "This isn't a gang. This is a merchant association, understand?"

"Of course. I was just going to say that not only was I Gadon's personal bodyguard, but I also did his accounting and trading sheets for him... After he lost his sight, that is."

"I see," she replied, smiling at her words, and scoffing at the thought of becoming blind.

A vibration came from her desk, signaling she had a visitor. She peered down at the monitor showing the main entrance, and saw a familiar face, Dorak, and kept smiling.

She pressed down on the buzzer.

Returning to her chair, she shushed Zaerdra and motioned for her to hide in the adjacent room. Erilla saw the lines around the Twi'lek woman's mouth twitch.

As the door to the nearby room slid shut behind her, Dorak entered.

He offered her a datapad. "Two hundred credits, as agreed, for communication to Coruscant. Two thousand for transportation."

Erilla hid her pleasure. The Sith Cloak was making things interesting. More importantly, it was making things profitable.

She only needed to read through the first page of information before getting the message. She threw the datapad against the glass, shattering the equipment into two knife like pieces. "This is just a contract Dorak, where are the credits?"

He lifted his robe, giving her a glimpse of his lightsaber, before reaching for the credit transfer and placing it on her desk. "Two-hundred for the communication link first."

"Well," she said, a newly impressed grin consuming her face. "Contracts aren't always necessary. We're all honest people here. Weapons aren't necessary either. But..." she paused, lifting her tunic to reveal her own lightsaber. "You never can be sure, can you?"

"Where did you get that from?" he said, taking a step toward her.

"What, you find it hard to believe that I'm a Jedi too?"

He took another step. "Where did you get that from?"

"A Mandalorian sold it to me. Canderous was his name."

"And is this Mandalorian still here?"

"Now that information will definitely cost you," she said, greed pooling in her eyes. Her hand cupped her chin, the red varnish on her nails meeting the painted red on her lips, the movement subtle, graceful, strong. Erilla didn't dance seduction, she danced intimidation. It was what set her apart from her kind.

* * *

Bastila was speeding through her memories as fast as the transport was speeding through the jungle, recalling all the details of her arrival here, all of the steps she could have taken to prevent this. She could have killed Canderous for being the annoying twit that he was. Maybe she should have forced Revan to let her stay with him. Or maybe she never should have surrendered to him that night on the Ebon Hawk.

As the events of that night unclouded, she became more resolute that her desire for Revan was the problem.

He had said it so roughly. "Shut up and kiss me," he said. She did, and in that moment, the bond wasn't just invisible particles floating in a tunnel from his mind to hers. It wasn't shared memories either. It was the way her lips tingled, it was the texture of his tongue, it was the soapy smell of his hair and the way his pores looked like freckles up close. The bond was like a river that appeared black at night, an absence rather than a presence, that betrayed no sign of how deep or how strong it really was.

And then he broke the kiss, asking, "That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

It wasn't, she replied with her body. And then her fists were against his chest, webbing out and pushing him toward the bed.

Later, she would deny anything more than a kiss had happened. She had called it a moment of weakness because she felt out of control. How had he been able to manipulate her into it? Why couldn't she stick to her decision to reject his advances? She knew now: it was because they needed each other. It was like shadow boxing, fighting yourself, and fighting the inevitable. But she couldn't come to terms with how one loss of control had caused such a massive chain reaction. Here she was trying to control others as the Apprentice of the Dark Lord, but she couldn't even control herself.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Bastila said. "Stop the floater."

"We're almost there."

"I'll only be a minute."

"And we'll be there in a minute."

"You can be a very cruel cruel woman sometimes."

Then the floater, like Bastila's patience, had come to a halt. She leaped out and started toward a cluster of yellow leaved bracken.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but since you already think I'm cruel, I guess it doesn't matter," said Belaya, who was resting her arm against the floater's chair and arching her eyebrows obscenely. "...you have to go here. The splinter ferns are carnivorous. They might try to get frisky with you."

"What?"

And then Belaya made the "sss" sound, because she knew Bastila couldn't just _go _in front of her; and even though she understood this, she found herself laughing, saying, "Come on already, drop and let's get out of here." Bastila imagined Belaya taking a kind of glee in being in the wilderness, people having to pee in front of one another.

"Are you kidding me with this? Who _actually _says that sort of thing?" Bastila crouched behind the vehicle.

And just as she was getting comfortable, she heard a rustling in the bushes behind her, bearing with it the appearance of two men. The older of the two unsheathed a vibroblade and held it to her bottom. "What's this, Rich? A Twi'lek pissing in the road?" When he smiled, his chromium teeth reflected light from his mechanical right arm. A cyborg.

"Erilla's people no doubt," said the tall and lanky younger one, Rich, whose bones practically ripped through his skin.

"Well then, we're here to collect on your pretty little heads."

"And tails." Rich laughed. He raised his wrist communicator to his mouth. "Rich Man here, requesting an armored vehicle to South Road in Sector 24."

The older mercenary winced. "We're not going to do the honor?"

"Minister Orkel wants to with Erilla's people, Jame." Apparently the younger one was the leader.

"Well then I hope you didn't call Khafka. He'll certainly want to _tamper _with the merchandise."

Bastila was still on the ground, motionless, as the scene played out. As was Belaya, leaving her wondering why she wasn't doing anything to help her. She didn't even gesture to assure her she had a plan. So with a click of her Will, the Force turned dark, flowing through her fingertips and out at the cyborg's heart. She heard its _thump-dunks _weaken as she drained his life. He held his chest with his metallic arm as his heart slowed to one beat every five seconds, and finally, not at all.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Rich Man running toward Belaya. Her green saber ignited. But as Bastila stood and turned her attention to the younger bounty hunter, she noticed a parked hovercraft. Five mercenaries in full armor were creeping behind Belaya, who might have Sensed their presence as well, but it was too late for her. She was stuck in a pool of purple gunk.

Bastila extended her arm, sending a Force Wave smashing against them. And like seaweed washing back with the tide, they fell to the ground, unconscious. But one stood like a rock. A rock with jagged edges that cut your feet if you tried to stand on it. A rock that threw grenades and wielded a Mandalorian blaster. A dangerous rock. He fired at Belaya, still stuck in the adhesive grenade, hitting her torso twice. And as Bastila rushed toward him, he began to pull back, running, turning every so often to get a shot off at her.

"Bastila, we really don't have time for _this. _Let him go, we need to meet Dorak."

But her attention was still on the strange man who could resist her Force Powers. How was it possible? She wondered. But she had to let it go for now. She climbed back into the floater, head first.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, they only nicked me," she said, holding her side.

"...Yeah, well maybe you deserved it."

"What? How could you say that?" But Belaya already knew. "Because I didn't help you..." She turned to look at Bastila. "It's just, I was in shock... And I keep wondering how wise it is to have you around. I worried you would turn on me whenever it was convenient. It was stupid, I know."

"It's ironic, really. Look who was loyal to whom. And it _was_ stupid, and a little bit careless. You almost got us both killed." She paused, breaking eye contact and focusing attention on Belaya's wound. "But that's not it."

"What is it then?"

Bastila pushed Belaya's arm aside, placing a Healing touch on her. "It's nothing."

"When you say it's nothing like that I know it's most definitely not nothing." There was a moment of reverie, of complete silence except the movement of the wind, and the strange cries of the creatures it carried with it. "The splinter ferns... they're not carnivorous."

"I know, you treacherous witch. You were trying to embarrass me. Now that was really stupid," she replied with a hidden smile on the opposite side of her face. Bastila's sudden blasé manner threw her off guard. So did the sound of the floater's hover boosts warming and the way her head jerked as the vehicle gained g-forces. Bastila was steering now.

* * *

"They're just in time," came a voice on the other side of the door that suggested years of Death Stick addiction. The door opened and the guard left them.

Erilla stood at her desk, her green dress and olive skin contrasting with the white washed walls and the frosted glass behind her. A head tail danced in anticipation.

Dorak was kneeling on the floor, fidgeting with the communication controls. He looked at the two of them and nodded. "We should have Coruscant in just a few minutes."

Bastila toyed with a chink in her armor-vest, the product of a laser particle ricochet. Dorak made her nervous. The last thing she wanted him to do was look at her, but she found herself staring at him anyway, fixated on a speck of blood on the arm of his white robe. "I'd rather not be here for this," she told Belaya.

Belaya reached for her arm, attempting to console her, but Bastila had already snuck from the room. Dorak was too busy playing with the communicator to notice. Erilla only eyed her as she lit a Death Stick.

"What do you like about her?" Erilla asked Belaya. Dorak looked up, suddenly interested. "Not her sense of humor, I'm guessing."

"Definitely not." Her answer made Dorak scowl, and Erilla in turn gave a wry faced smile at the both of them, wisps of smoke escaping the gaps between her teeth. Belaya returned it half-heartedly. She saw the other woman engaging her in a game of chess, probing her for information, seeing how strong her defenses were.

"But she's pretty."

"Bastila is without a doubt beautiful."

"Well beauty makes up for a number of character flaws, doesn't it?"  
Belaya turned stone faced again, ashamed at the apparent shallowness in its truth. "Something about her dark beauty... _is_ appealing. And there's also something there that's still pure..." Something sweet and innocent and young, like the way her dimples lingered long after the smile had left her eyes, she finished in thought. Or the way her eyebrows lifted when her mouth opened, as if controlled by a puppet master with an interconnected string. Or the way she always maintained a sophisticated tone and manner in even the most childish conversations. It bothered the hell out of her, but at the same time, it was one of her more endearing traits. Simple things... that was the truth. The simple things were the reason she liked her, the reason she thought she might grow to love her. The sudden realization slid into her cleanly, like the sharp edge of a knife. But Dorak's eyes on her were fiends returned to reclaim the knowledge. The eyes re-wrapped it, dragging it back to where it really lived, where the love laws lay down who should be loved, and how. And how much. "She's Revan's lover."

"The Dark Lord?"

"That's right."

"Ah, she's one of those Sith power junkies. But they're still people. And people are all the same. You have to appeal to their egos and then prove yourself to them," she began, pausing for emphasis, her hands spanning the desk as she leaned forward. "Simply put, you have to challenge him. But I wouldn't let that get out. If the Sith come this way, then Hail Lord Revan... "

"When and if we confront him, it will be for the Republic."

"Right, the Republic, of course. How could I forget the ever important Republic. But you said 'we'... You and her, a fit match for the Dark Lord?" Erilla's eyes caught hers like harpoons, cutting her in the gut and keeping her from wriggling away. The last of her Death Stick was inhaled and spat out in a yellow cloud of sulfur. "If I were a betting woman, and I am, I'd put twelve to one you'd fail. There are of course other means to strengthen the odds in your favor..."

"We've got Coruscant," Dorak said. A hologram of Master Ulan manifested before him. "Master, greetings from Roon. Good news, we've got the key back."

* * *

Bastila Felt a familiar presence in the adjacent room. Her spirits lifted like a sail. She was suddenly happy. Things get worse, she thought. Then better.

As the security spike cranked into the door's terminal, Bastila felt a draft from the room, as if some relative of chance had set an unlikely date. On the other side stood a tenacious looking pale skinned Twi'lek. She kept one hand against the window, one hand at the computer terminal, like a scientist watching the strange behavior of mice and only entering statistical anomalies in their action. She recognized this woman from the Swoop Race on Taris. She was Gadon's bodyguard. "Zaerdra?"

Zaerdra moved toward her, a subtle gesture of recognition, but her arms suddenly folded across her chest. The heel of her shoe made a clicking noise against the tiled floor. "You're the woman captured on Taris. Bastila, right?" The memory of her capture chafed her ego like the feeling of dried moss.

"I am."

"Even disguised as a Twi'lek I couldn't forget the face that diced Brejik into pieces."

"Looking back, I was a bit brutal, wasn't I?"

Zaerdra smiled. "Not unnecessarily."

Bastila cut the distance between them. "I have to ask, how did you escape Taris?"

Zaerdra's attention moved back to the one sided window, where she could keep an eye on Belaya and Dorak. "I didn't escape so much as I was rescued. When the attacks began, Gadon and I led as many as survived the initial bombardment down to the sewers. So many died of that disease... Well died is what we called it." She glanced at Bastila and went back to monitoring the other room. "When the Republic sent relief efforts, which were a pitiful afterthought to say the least, Gadon was... already dead..."

"...So you left because of the memory, because you felt you'd failed."

"I only had one job: to protect Gadon. It was actually quite random that I ended up here. I was sitting in the transport station, deciding whether I should leave or stay and help rebuild Taris. The Beks were ready to name me their new leader... And then the shuttle for Roon came, and my feet just carried me toward it. I knew I wasn't fit to lead anyone; I couldn't even protect a single person, let alone an entire gang. So here I am."

"...Where I'll add you should fit in quite nicely. This seems to be a place for people with stained histories. And I don't believe you coming to Roon was chance. There must be some greater purpose."

Zaerdra gave her a suspicious look. Although most people were respectful toward the Jedi and their station, the religion itself elicited such discomposed reactions. "And how did you escape?"

"Revan... Or Dak as you might remember him, made a deal with that Mandalorian, Canderous. He attained the launch codes and in turn, Canderous supplied us with... illegal access to Davik's ship, the Ebon Hawk."

"Canderous, you say? What a small galaxy. He visited Erilla just this afternoon. Some deal they had. Erilla got her hands on a helm he was after, I guess."

"That's no coincidence, Zaerdra. Can you tell me where he is now?"

"I imagine he's in the docking bay, preparing to leave. Or perhaps he's already gone."

Bastila wasn't aware of opening the doors, moving through them, or Zaedra's mumbled words behind her. Inadvertently she built a wall around all of that so that she could tune into the Force's whisper: _it's no coincidence. _

As she hurried down the corridor, she folded her fear into a perfect fist. She held it in front of her, pushing through the faceless tradesmen and workers. The Force Willed this to happen. And the people and the doors were just obstacles. What was she doing?

She had nothing. No future. Yet she was speeding toward something greater. Her legs were pistoning now, moving with a will of their own toward the biggest confrontation since the Star Forge.

As she left Erilla's complex, the sky was already beginning to storm; the streets were nearly flooding. The rain had started early that day. It was the rain that brought Belaya and her together the previous afternoon, shoulder to shoulder, cramped in the shelter. And now it was the rain that seemed to be separating them, because there was no real shelter here, not from the past and not from destiny.

_I have to go, _she sent Belaya through the Force.

And as she ran away from the chance at redemption, Belaya was still like a millstone around her neck. It was illogical to her new form of religion to be accountable to anyone but her master. But perhaps the rain, Belaya's presence along with that of Dorak, Zaerdra, and even Canderous, were the Force's way of telling her something. Was she missing it?

The sky above the docking bay was thick with advertisements - pod racing, spice drinks, Corellian ale, news about famines. The war. Designer fashion. Thrill seeking. With all the messages around her, she failed to notice the neon yellow sign that read: Slow Traffic. And here she was, gliding toward Canderous without a sail or a parachute. But it didn't really matter.

It didn't matter because she had tunnel vision. Because there was Canderous, entering information into his datapad, using his thin shirt as a tent to protect himself and the equipment from the onslaught of cloud juice.

Now only one wall stood between her and the object of her scorn: the two Dark Jedi. She could only clearly see one, bartering with the docking bay merchant for medpacks, but she was aware of the other in close proximity. Her nameless foes. She needed to find a way to easily dispose of them before Canderous had a chance to retreat back into the ship. On closer inspection, she noticed that the Dark Jedi purchasing supplies kept his lightsaber on the left side of his belt; he was a south paw. With her double bladed saber, fighting a leftie was usually a disadvantage; she generally dealt stronger blows with the right side of her staff, leaving her left more or less open. But on their journey to the lightstation, she remembered him constantly looking toward his partner as they walked. She got the sense that he was waiting for signs of disturbances in the Force from the other Dark Jedi... He simply couldn't Sense them unless they were practically slapping him in the face; his general perceptiveness was lower than the average Jedi, as was his will. A long range Force Power attack would be the best option.

She crept to the opposite side of the landing strip in search of his companion, using the empty storage crates for sale to shield herself from sight. When he rushed to see where the attacker was, she figured a mine in his path might startle him further. She saw him then, at the rear of the ship, cross-legged, meditating. His eyes opened wide. He drew his saber. Why couldn't things ever go as planned? she asked the Force of the Universe at Work, before leaping off a stack of crates, one blade of her saber extended to the sky, and one toward him.

It made a whistling sound in the air, and when it collided with his saber, the whistles turned into a hiss, as if cohesion were simply out of the question. They were supposed to be on the same side. But now Bastila fought for herself. The strength of that knowledge gave her saber the edge. He fell back a few paces, and she used the opportunity to put him in Stasis. She Sensed the other Dark Jedi and Canderous approaching, most likely aroused by the sound of drawn weapons and their grunting warrior-talk; she guessed they couldn't be more than a few meters away. Now was the time to make her move. She watched in a kind of indifference as his head parted from his body and beat again the concrete like a drum.

The last thing she wanted to do was engage the other Dark Jedi in saber play. But as she sent a Bolt of Insanity piercing into the enclosure of his mind, the Awareness that Canderous was no where to be seen plagued her. She watched him grab at his skull, trying to shake the mental hold she had over him. The quick stab at his shoulder blade missed, but the whirlwind created by the reverse thrust as her saber spun around took him off his feet... But it wasn't enough; he was standing again, his saber swiping at her head, lopping off both of her synthetic lekku. And then she heard the sound of a power-up and a blast behind her, and suddenly felt a sting of pain at the top of her spine. It was Canderous, she knew. He was a good shot; he always knew where and when to fire. She used a brief moment of calm to Heal the wound in her back and re-think her strategy. Defeating both at once would take something special. So she centered herself, taking all of her hatred toward Revan and Canderous, combining them, and stuffed them into the bottom of her throat; and there the dark side took over, manifesting those feelings into pure unadulterated power. Her lungs opened, and her voice box began its rapid vibration, and then she parted her lips, releasing the Scream upon them. She couldn't hear it herself, but she saw that all of the crates circling the port had fallen and the Dark Jedi had passed out from the high pitched ball of pure hatred. Then she dug her lightsaber into his chest, finishing him.

Canderous was shaking his head, trying to muster the strength to return to his feet. Some small part of her had hoped he would fight longer, making his death more satisfying.

She called out to him, "You're pathetic. You could have tried to get rid of me better than that." But the blades of her lightsaber were doing the talking now.

Canderous was back on his feet, walking toward her. "Listen, I know you must be pretty angry with me. But this isn't my fault. Revan doesn't want you around anymore. And fighting me really isn't going to help anything. But," he began, "I'm always up for it if you want it."

"I came for you, and I'll come for Revan."

Canderous' blaster was directed at her again, but she sliced its tip with the skill and accuracy of a master. "Well then, that settles that," he said, lifting himself to his feet, and beginning a limp toward the ship, his back turned to her. She knew it was his way of telling her that he had forfeited. "As much as I'd love to stay and chat," he said, his profile dripping with what could have been sweat or rain, "but I made a promise to a friend."

Bastila deactivated her saber and sent the hilt flying at Canderous' head. His head wobbled, his knees buckled, and he fell on his stomach. She went to him, putting a foot at each side of his torso, and squatted. She tried grabbing him by the hair for the effect, but it was too short, so she took his head in both hands and slammed his face against the concrete landing strip.

"More," he said.

"All right." She beat his head into the ground twice more.

"Bastila!" She turned to see Belaya. She had been caught indulging in the need for revenge. She hated the way other Jedi made her feel. "There's no need for that."

"Oh, but we were just getting to the good part," he said, smiling, his teeth bloody but satisfied.

Between a rift in the concrete, she caught sight of a family of what she had come to recognize as splinter ferns. This was the third kind she had seen on Roon, but she always recognized them by their yellow veins. On first inspection, they seemed so dangerous, a massive spike rising from the end of the stem, accompanied by seemingly unfriendly thorns along the stalk. But that was the only way most people would recognize them. Before they were transformed by the sun, they appeared like almost any other fern, their blonde leaves the only distinguishing feature. Then after the rain, the spike flowered, just a tiny yellow bud sheathing its tip. They usually grew separate from other ferns, or hid below them, as if concealing their hidden power of evolution. They always had the potential to be harmful, given natural forces. Yet under different conditions, they were unruffled and beautiful.

Back inside the darkness of her soul, she saw an abandoned child, born in the sea without a boon. She saw herself. Her love. Her madness. Her feelings of infinite joy. Once she was a charioteer of purity, of goodness. Now her heels were cracked. Tough. And she saw Belaya. She wasn't sure if Belaya would grow like a rind between herself and her path, but it was worth the risk. Finding herself was worth it. In her she saw the chance to touch her own heart and come to terms with her sudden, brash fall.

"I... I'm sorry," she said to no one in particular. She lifted herself off Canderous and moved back to Belaya. Toward a new, but tainted, beginning.


End file.
